Stay With Me
by Lady Dudley
Summary: Too busy looking for zebras instead of horses, Sherlock doesn't solve the case, but he gets the girl. Implied Sherlolly.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is loosely based on the _Bones _episode 'The Hole In The Heart,' the _Castle_ episode 'Kill Shot' and the chorus to Taylor Swift's 'Haunted.' Set after season 2. Hope you enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_**Stay With Me**_

_…_  
_Come on, come on  
Don't leave me like this  
I thought I had you figured out  
Something's gone terribly wrong  
You're all I wanted_  
_..._  
_You're not gone_  
_You can't be gone_  
_No_  
-'Haunted,' Taylor Swift  
…

_She went down in slow motion, yet he still only just managed to catch her. He ripped off his scarf and pressed it hard against the wound, desperately trying to block out her laboured breathing and terrified eyes. There was blood everywhere._

_So much blood._

The man gave a shudder at the memories, pulling the brightly coloured blanket tighter around his shoulders.

_A voice called out for help; for someone – anyone – to help him save the woman whose life was pouring out of her. The voice turned into a broken whisper, repeating "stay with me" over and over; becoming more desperate as her eyes slid shut._

"Morphine for the pain," said a voice, breaking into his thoughts.

"I'm not in pain, I'm in shock," Sherlock scowled, taking the proffered tumbler of whiskey with shaky hands. He took a sip, not even bothering to ask how John had managed to slip it passed the nurses.

John sat down next to him with a heavy sigh, "Are you all right?" he asked finally.

"Do I bloody look all right?" Sherlock demanded, not looking at him and downing the last of the whiskey with one gulp.

John was silent, watching as Sherlock took a shaky breath as he examined his bloodstained hands.

"How is she?" Sherlock asked quietly after a long moment.

"She's still in surgery," John replied, just as quietly.

Sherlock looked longingly at the empty glass in his hands, "It's a good sign," John continued, "she's strong. She'll get through this."

"It should have been me," Sherlock stated, ignoring John's attempts to reassure him. He ran a hand through his hair, heedless of the blood, "It's my fault," he added, staring into the distance.

"Don't be stupid."

Sherlock looked at him with haunted eyes, "Why else would someone shoot Molly?"


	2. Chapter 2

John sighed and tossed the magazine he'd been trying to read onto the table in front of him.

They'd been there for over an hour without any news on Molly's progress and John could no longer decide if that was a good or a bad thing.

Sherlock sat opposite him, his face buried in his hands; hands which were now clean as John had finally managed to convince him to wash the worst of the blood off.

"This shouldn't be happening," Sherlock muttered, making John jump.

"What?"

Sherlock looked up, "Moriarty's dead, all his men are dead," he continued absently, "so who did this?"

"Sometimes the zebra is just a horse," John told him gently, Sherlock gave him a confused look and John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "This may come as a shock, Sherlock, but the world doesn't revolve around you," John said flatly, "Molly could have been shot for any number of reasons."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "Name one that makes sense," he demanded, "why would anyone shoot Molly except as a way to get to me?" he continued without waiting for John to answer. "She was standing right next to me, John, it was a warning that the people I…" he trailed off.

"Yes?" John prompted, earning a glare from Sherlock.

"We need to find out who's behind this," Sherlock said, changing the subject.

"The police-"

"Are useless," Sherlock said dismissively, "they might have stood a chance with Lestrade in charge, but he recused himself." Sherlock smirked at John, "The advantage of not being the police is that I don't have to."

"Are you sure that you're not too…involved in this as well?" John asked carefully.

Sherlock's eyes flashed dangerously, "Molly has been shot, John, do you really expect me to sit by and do nothing?"

"No," John admitted. "Well, what do we do now?" he asked when Sherlock made no attempt to move.

Sherlock hesitated, "I need…" he began, before checking himself, "before we begin we need to know if we're investigating a murder or a shooting."

"Of course," John replied, watching Sherlock carefully as he sat back in his chair, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling and waiting.

John liked Molly and sincerely hoped that she would pull through this, but he had seen what her being shot had done to Sherlock. He wasn't sure he could cope with the fallout if she didn't survive.


	3. Chapter 3

_She was gone._

Sherlock stopped paying attention to what the doctor said after he broke the news, the words bouncing around his mind.

_She was gone._

He dimly heard John asking questions and was distantly aware of John guiding him out of the hospital and back to the flat.

He didn't say anything and John wisely kept his mouth shut, watching him as he moved to the window and picked up his violin.

_She was gone._

The melody he played was intense as he poured out his loss into the music, unwilling to let himself cry; refusing to grieve.

_She was gone._

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and focused on John's concerned face hovering above him, "Molly?" he asked, sitting up.

"The doctor's just been, she's still unconscious but she's out of danger," John told him, smiling.

Sherlock slumped with relief in his chair, "It was only a dream," he muttered.

John shot him a look, "What?"

Sherlock ignored him, "Well, I guess this means we can get on with the case," he said briskly, standing up and reaching for his scarf.

He stopped short and stared at it, turning it over in his hands as he examined the bloodstains. After a long moment, he stuffed it in his pocket and turned to face John who was pretending not to have noticed.

"Shall we?" he asked, striding off.

"Are you sure you don't want to see her?" John asked, rushing to catch up with him.

"Quite sure, thank you," Sherlock replied brusquely, although John noticed his brief hesitation.

"Right, so…where are we going?" John asked, finally catching up to him as Sherlock stopped to hail a cab.

"Molly's flat," Sherlock said decisively as he climbed into the cab.

"Molly's _what_?" John demanded, climbing in after him.

"It's perfectly reasonable, John," Sherlock explained calmly after giving the driver the directions, "whoever shot her must have known her routine, therefore they must have been following her." He paused, "Besides, someone will need to feed her cat."

"And by 'someone' you mean me," John said with a sigh, resigned to his fate.

Sherlock shook his head absently, "No, I'll do it; Toby doesn't take food from strangers," he explained as the cab came to a stop and he climbed out.

John stared after him in mild shock, "Are you coming?" Sherlock asked, looking back into the cab.

John blinked and followed him out, "I'm not going to ask," John said finally, following him up the stairs.

Sherlock shrugged a shoulder as he pulled out a key and opened Molly's door, John looked between the open door and Sherlock. "I'm not going to ask about _that_ either," he added, following him into the flat.

Two hours later, the pair left the flat (cat in tow) without any better understanding of why Molly had been targeted.

John glanced at Sherlock's grim profile as they headed back to their flat, wondering whether he should broach the subject of Molly or not.

"Spit it out John," Sherlock grumbled.

"It's not important," John replied, deciding on _not _and turning to look out his own window.

It was a mark of how distracted Sherlock really was that his only response to John's evasion was a grunt.


	4. Chapter 4

She looked like an angel in the darkened room; like a small, pale angel who had merely fallen asleep.

He took the only seat in the room, pulling it closer to the bed so that he could take her hand in his.

He'd always thought she was child-like, but she looked even smaller in the bed; so fragile and still.

Too still.

Molly was usually a ball of nervous energy – twitching hands, shuffling feet and sparkling eyes with a face like an open book.

Now she was still.

Quiet.

Calm.

He didn't like it.

It wasn't his Molly.

For once he didn't shy away from the use of the pronoun; she _was_ his and he wanted her back, it was as simple as that.

He shifted so that he was holding her hand in both of his, "Come back to me, Molly," he whispered.

He ran his thumbs across her knuckles absently, watching her face.

"I need you," he added, his voice almost inaudible, even to his own ears.

A shadow passed by the window to her room and he glanced up.

By the time the nurse had backtracked, Sherlock was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

John stopped outside the door to the lab and peeped through the window. Sherlock was examining something under the microscope, looking like he'd been there all night; which he probably had.

He was used to Sherlock looking a little unkempt when he was on a case, but there was something distinctly haggard about his appearance this morning. John sighed; at least he'd managed to convince him to change out of his bloodstained clothes.

Carefully juggling the two mugs of coffee he carried, John entered the lab and went to place one of them next to the microscope.

"Thank you Molly," Sherlock said absently.

"It's, uh, John actually," John told him quietly.

Sherlock froze.

John waited, but when it became apparent that Sherlock wasn't going to say anything he moved off, pulling out his phone as he did so.

He was in the middle of an intense game of 'Angry Birds' when Sherlock suddenly banged his fists on the bench in frustration, making him jump.

"I can't work here!" he declared, standing up and grabbing his coat, "It's too quiet," he hissed, striding out the door and leaving a bewildered John to catch up.

"I thought you liked working without distractions," John said, half-running in order to keep pace with him.

"Not today," Sherlock ground out, sounding almost angry.

"Why don't you just admit that you miss her?" John asked, stopping his pursuit of Sherlock and crossing his arms.

Sherlock stopped and turned around slowly.

"Admit it," John dared him, "you're worried about her and _you_ _miss_ _her_."

"I can't," Sherlock said after a long moment, looking anywhere but at John.

"Can't or won't?" John demanded.

"Can't," Sherlock said firmly, "if I admit that I won't be able to focus."

"And why do you think that is?" John prompted.

"Because I care," Sherlock said finally; before abruptly spinning on his heel and marching off.

Once more leaving a bewildered John in his wake.


	6. Chapter 6

It took John the better part of the afternoon to find him. Although, if he'd thought about it, Molly's hospital room should have been the first place he looked.

He sat hunched over in the chair, resting his face against his hands that were folded as though in prayer. His eyes were closed but John knew he was aware of everything in the room.

"No change then," John said, idly picking up the notes at the end of the bed and flipping through them.

"The last of the drugs have worn off, she'll wake when she's ready," Sherlock replied, his eyes still closed.

John replaced the notes and clasped his hands behind his back, "Have you, uh," he cleared his throat, "thought any more about…the case?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and leaned back in the chair to look at him, "Why? You've come to tell me the police have found the answer."

"A disgruntled ex-patient out for revenge against the hospital," John told him, "the bullet was traced back to him. Molly was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Sherlock looked over at Molly, deep in thought.

_It always has to be clever, that's your weakness._

Moriarty's words came back to him as he considered how he'd been so _sure_ it was an attempt to get at him that he'd dismissed the mundane possibility that it was just a random act.

That someone could have a reason to shoot Molly that was completely unrelated to him.

In his mind it had to have been an attempt to hurt him because he knew that her death _would_ hurt him. She was too important to him; especially after everything she had done for him.

_It always has to be clever, that's your weakness._

He smirked.

Moriarty was wrong, just as he'd been wrong then; it didn't have to be clever, that wasn't his weakness.

_Molly_ was his weakness.

He was just relieved that no one had used that to their advantage.

"Are you even listening?" John demanded, breaking Sherlock from his thoughts, "I asked you if you want to go and question him," John told him when he made no reply.

"Unless you'll let me question him with my riding crop," Sherlock replied, his eyes glittering with malice, "I think it might be better I stay here."

"With Molly?" John clarified.

"Is there a problem?"

"No," John said hastily, "no problem, just…wondering if you're feeling all right."

"I'm fine," he assured him. "Isn't this what people do?" he continued at John's dubious look, "Keep vigil?"

"Yes, that's what _people_ do," John agreed, "but not what _you_ do."

"This is different," Sherlock said simply, John waited and Sherlock rolled his eyes, "this is _Molly_," he added.

"And why does that make it different?" John prodded.

"Don't try to analyse me John," Sherlock warned him.

"It's a simple enough question," John replied easily, fighting off a smile, "_why_ does that make it different?"

Sherlock closed his eyes for a brief moment, steadying himself, knowing that John wouldn't leave until he got his answer. "Because I care," he said simply, "satisfied?" he asked, twisting in his seat to look John squarely in the face.

John smirked, "Not really, but it will do for now," he said as he left the room.

Sherlock glared after him.

...

**A/N: I know it's a bit easy, but that was kind of the point - it really was just her being in the wrong place at the wrong time and him trying to wrap his mind around that.**


	7. Epilogue

**A/N: Some of the dialogue for this was borrowed from ****a two-part _Blue Heelers_ episode ("Mad Dogs and Englishmen" and "Under Seige")**

Her fingers were the first to move; somehow he found that simple fact amusing and so very her.

Then her eyes had fluttered before they slowly opened; swiftly they took in her surroundings before settling on his face.

"Hello," was all he could think to say in that moment, wincing inwardly at how stupid he sounded.

"You stayed," she murmured, sounding a little groggy.

"Yes."

She blinked slowly, "How close did I come to dying?" she asked after a moment.

"Too close," Sherlock murmured, unconsciously reaching over to squeeze her hand.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, closing her eyes and giving his hand a weak squeeze in return.

Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she knew it had to mean something that he was still there with her, holding her hand. But she was too tired to try and work it all out.

"I'm tired," she murmured, opening her eyes and turning her head to look at him.

"You were under heavy sedation," Sherlock informed her.

"Hmm…" she murmured sleepily, closing her eyes. "Stay with me," she added after a long moment, looking at him with bleary eyes as she rolled onto her side to face him, pulling his hand closer to her.

"Always," he murmured.

She smiled as her eyes drifted shut. Sherlock reached out to brush a stray lock of hair off her face with his free hand before settling back to watch her sleep.


End file.
